Keep Your Enemies Closer
by SilverCat63
Summary: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, the old saying goes. Is Boromir part of the Fellowship because he is friend, or because he is foe? Has Frodo kept Boromir too close? Written with the movie!verse in mind. Warning for character deaths!


**Author's Note:** My wonderful, now-former Lit. teacher is responsible for this plot bunny. He claimed that Elrond only included Boromir because you keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Except he used a lot more words and spent a good five minutes explaining it. My never-to-be-read thanks go to my mom for her wonderful beta job! (Yes, my mommy reads my writing - some of it, not the slash - and she's very proud of her baby, the author. LOL!)

_**LotR LotR LotR**_

Boromir lay, watching his breath cloud in the chill night air. Winter was fast approaching, and already the ground was covered in frost. He would have to be careful not to make any noise. Elves slept lightly, and wizards even more so.

When the dwarf's hearty snores joined the chorus of lighter hobbit snores, Boromir knew it was time. Cautiously, he rose from his blanket, making sure he moved as casually as possible. If anyone woke up, they would hopefully think he was just getting up to relieve himself, but then he would be in danger of being linked to the crime he was about to commit.

One of his companions shifted in their sleep, and he froze. Boromir cocked his head, listening intently for any noise that would signal his discovery. After a long moment of still silence, he breathed a quiet, relieved sigh and started forward.

The hobbits slept in a group in the middle of the camp. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, and Boromir himself positioned themselves in a protective circle around the little ones every night to keep them safe. Boromir had kept a careful watch and noted where Frodo was sleeping earlier that evening. He had to slip past Aragorn, Merry, and Pippin to reach the Ring-bearer.

He tensed after each sliding step, remaining motionless for endless seconds before chancing another step. Eventually, he made it to the small bundle of blankets and cloak that was Frodo. Boromir knelt, thankful that his knees did not creak, at Frodo's side and readied his dagger.

He would have to be swift and silent. Frodo could make no noise or all of Boromir's plans would be for naught, and Middle-earth would surely fall. He could not let that happen. Boromir gripped the dagger tighter, his hand aching with the cold and the strain.

Beneath him, Frodo lay like one already dead. The sight of his sleeping face almost undid Boromir. The Ring-bearer looked so young, almost like a child. It was hard to believe that the fate of Middle-earth rested on his small shoulders. It was unfair and unjust. Someone stronger should take the Ring and carry the burden. A halfling could not hope to defeat the Dark Lord. Only someone with strength and power could hope to succeed in this quest. Suddenly, Boromir realized that he was still crouched over Frodo. He had to do it, he had to. Nerving himself, he brought his dagger down.

All it took was one swift thrust, up and under the rib cage, directly into the heart. The halfling gasped softly and tensed then relaxed limply back into his blanket. Boromir felt warmth trickling over his fingers and hastily pulled his weapon free. It was done, just like killing an orc sentry before a raid.

Boromir shakily wiped his blade clean on the edge of Frodo's cloak then sheathed the dagger. His hand barely shook as he reached for the halfling's neck. He fished for a moment then his fingers caught on the fine chain. He drew it slowly out, forgetting himself for a moment as his prize came into view. The innocent gold band winked in the starlight and spun lazily where it dangled.

His breath caught in his throat as he carefully pulled the chain over the halfling's head. Then he thrust his prize into his belt pouch and waited.

Boromir knelt there until his knees ached, listening and watching the sleepers around him. They did not know what he had done. He was safe. Finding his courage and spurred on by his success, Boromir quickly arranged Frodo's cloak and blanket so they covered his body and most of his face.

His work done, Boromir stood and strode carefully back to his blankets. He knew where he had to go and what he had to do. He carried the burden now, not the halfling. Middle-earth would not fall.

_**X**_

Sam glanced up from his empty plate to his still sleeping master. Frodo hadn't stirred from his blanket yet, which was unusual. Breakfast wasn't much on this grand quest, but it was enough to get him awake in the morning. Maybe Frodo was sickening for something? Master Elrond had supplied them well with warm clothes and blankets, but the cold did funny things to a body, even with a good fire to go home to.

Sighing, Sam got up and went over to Frodo. He called Frodo's name softly and shook his shoulder. Except, his shoulder wouldn't shake. Sam frowned as he tried to rouse his master again, and as before, Frodo wouldn't move. Suddenly scared, Sam tore the cloak's hood from Frodo's face.

Frodo was pale, almost white. His eyes were closed, but his face was drawn as if he were in pain. Sam dropped his hand away from Frodo's still face, brushing against the blanket wrapped snugly around Frodo. The blanket pulled away from Frodo's chest to reveal a dark, dried stain.

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam gasped, sitting down hard and staring.

"Sam? What is it?" Strider came up behind him, sounding concerned. He saw Frodo and immediately called, "Gandalf!"

_**X**_

"I just don't understand it, Gandalf," Aragorn said, sighing in frustration. "There are no tracks but ours coming into camp. What creature could have done this and left no footprints?"

Gandalf sat, chewing on the long stem of his unlit pipe. Aragorn shifted restlessly for a moment. Boromir kept a careful watch on the pair as he cradled Merry and Pippin in his arms. The halflings were inconsolable in their grief. He did not know what to do with them exactly, but they gave him a reason to be near the fire, close enough to hear the conversation between the wizard and the ranger.

"There are few creatures who could leave no sign of their passing behind," Gandalf finally said. Boromir listened carefully and rubbed soothingly along Pippin's back. "They are old and powerful. I did not think that they walked abroad again."

Disbelief and fear were plain in the wizard's tone. Aragorn twitched, frowning deeply as he looked carefully around their camp again. Boromir thought the ranger's suspicious eyes linger on him a moment longer than the rest. He fought to keep calm and still while inwardly cursing the perceptive man.

Knowing he could not risk staying with the company, Boromir slowly shifted the halflings into each other's arms. Murmuring quietly, "I'll be back."

He was almost into the trees when Aragorn's voice stopped him. "Boromir, where are you going? It isn't safe."

"I'm going to dig a grave for Frodo," Boromir said, keeping his voice level but tinged with grief. His act must have succeeded, for Sam let out a sob, prompting Merry and Pippin to wrap their arms around him.

Aragorn looked suspicious, and Gandalf had a knowing glint in his eye, but no one protested. When he was sure that they would not follow him, he strode off into the trees. It was hard to make his steps heavy and slow. The mere thought of his prize made Boromir want to skip and shout for joy like he hadn't since he was a child. He managed to restrain himself until he got to the large evergreen where he had hidden his pack.

It was a small bundle, with hardly enough supplies for a scout or errand runner, but Boromir hoped it would be enough to see him through the Gap of Rohan and to some hamlet where he could buy or trade for more. He would have to tighten his belt and travel hard. If he was determined and lucky, he would be back in Rohan before the first snowfall.

Without looking back, Boromir turned and set of through the bare trees. He would only have a short time before they pursued him, and the ranger and the elf would move quickly. He had to get away. He had to save Middle-earth.

_**X**_

Sam sat, eyes dry but red, staring into the small fire that had been kindled. Merry and Pippin sat huddled together, side by side, across from him. They kept glancing at him, but they didn't say anything. Sam could hear Gimli muttering a constant stream of curses as the dwarf prowled the campsite, axe in hand. Gandalf was sitting with his back to a small, twisted tree with his eyes closed. His lips were moving, but no sound came out.

Sam stared back into the fire, letting the smoke and heat burn his eyes. Every pop of the fire made him jerk around to look for Strider and Legolas. The pair had gone to hunt Boromir down because he had — he could have been the one...

Sam gave up, put his head in his hands, and cried.

_**X**_

Hours later, when the sun was already beginning to set, Aragorn and Legolas returned to camp. They were alone, and Aragorn looked troubled. Sighing, Gandalf shifted himself away from the tree. The hobbits turned tearful eyes to the hunters, and Gimli stopped his pacing to watch from beneath hooded eyes.

Guessing at what had happened, Gandalf nonetheless asked, "Did you find him?"

Aragorn threw himself to the ground with a weary, frustrated sigh. He stared into the fire for a long minute before he turned tear-bright eyes to the wizard. "We found him."

"And," he prompted, coming to stand by the defeated Man.

"And we could not bring him back." Aragorn turned back the fire and caught sight of Sam. He immediately stood and went to comfort the grieving hobbit. "I'm sorry, Sam. I wish I could have kept him safe, but at least Boromir paid for what he did."

Sam turned into Aragorn's shoulder and burrowed into his arms. He looked heartbreakingly young to Gandalf's old eyes, and he wished that the burdened wasn't on the hobbits. They were such innocent creatures. Shaking off his gloomy thoughts, Gandalf looked to Legolas for answers. The elf was staring off into the night, but turned when he felt the wizard's scrutiny.

"I am sorry, Mithrandir," he murmured. "Boromir would not halt when we called to him. We pursued him but could not catch him. Finally, I drew my bow. I only meant to slow him, but my aim was bad, and I killed him. We left his body for the crows."

Gandalf gave a firm nod. He had expected as much. "Do not worry, Legolas. I did not expect you to bring him back. But what of the Ring? Did you find it?"

"I have it." Aragorn spoke up. He was now sitting beside the fire, cradling Sam in his arms. "We thought it best that I keep it safe."

**_X_**

Sam relaxed into Strider's strong, warm arms. He felt safe, like the world could end and it wouldn't matter because Strider was there. He fell into a sort of stupor, where it didn't hurt so much, and he didn't bother listening to Gandalf and Strider arguing. A few words reached him in his fog, and Sam vaguely wondered what they meant.

"Aragorn, this is not your destiny."

"Why not, Gandalf? Why shouldn't I put right the wrong my ancestor did to Middle-earth?" Sam could feel the vibrations of Strider's angry voice coming through his chest.

"Because that is not your path, Aragorn. You are a healer, not a warrior. The Ring is not meant for you, or for any of us!" Gandalf was angry too.

"I can use the Ring to heal. After the stain of Mordor is gone, I will destroy it."

"Aragorn, please. Do not do this. Listen to what you are saying!"

Strider went still beneath him, and Sam realized that something important was happening. Whatever decision Strider made right now would affect the entire world. The sudden tension made it hard for Sam to breathe, and he felt tears slide silently down his cheeks again.

"You are right, Gandalf," Strider finally said, all the anger gone from his voice. For a brief moment, Sam had the disconcerting feeling that Strider's arms weakened around him, losing their strength and vitality. Then it flooded back, stronger and more powerful than ever. "The Ring does not belong to me, and I should not carry it. The world is in enough danger, and I will do my best to protect it."

"You will give up the Ring?" Gandalf asked suspiciously.

"I will."

"Good. Give it to Samwise."

That got Sam's attention. "Wh-what? Why me?" he stuttered, peering out from the safety of Strider's arms. Gandalf was watching him keenly from the other side of the fire. For a moment, Sam felt as though Gandalf knew everything, but what there was to know about him, a simple gardener, Sam couldn't say.

"You must take up your Master's burden, Samwise," the wizard said kindly. "No one else can bear it."

"What about — "

"No!" Gandalf said quickly, fixing Pippin with a glare. "Sam must take the Ring to Mount Doom and destroy it. You can only help him, Peregrin Took. You can't carry his load for him."

More tears spilled from Sam's eyes as he looked around at everyone. All these great folk and big people, and none of them could take it. They would have a better chance than him. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Strider stopped him.

"Please, Sam. Do it for Frodo." He gently squeezed Sam. "Destroy the Ring for him."

Sam thought about it for another long moment, staring into the fire until the dancing flames burned into his eyes and he was forced to blink and look beyond the fire. Gimli, Legolas, Merry, Pippin and Gandalf were all watching him, hope plain in their eyes. For a split second, Sam glanced over at the wrapped bundle near the edge of camp. Finally, his mind made up, Sam looked up at Strider and said, "All right. I'll do it. For 'im."

_**LotR LotR LotR**_

**Disclaimer:** Any recognizable characters, places, names, things, or situations are not mine; they belong to the Tolkien family. I'm playing with pretty, shiny toys without making any money, and with no intent to infringe on copyrights and other legal bother.


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